


tear us down

by inexhaustible



Category: Yu-Gi-Oh! VRAINS
Genre: M/M
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2017-06-12
Updated: 2017-06-12
Packaged: 2018-11-13 04:09:02
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 981
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/11176719
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/inexhaustible/pseuds/inexhaustible
Summary: There’s no third time, and Shoichi thinks about the irony of it sometimes. It’s for the best, he tells himself. What they’re doing – it’s dangerous, and – it’s better not to get attached, he thinks, as if he hasn’t already.It’s easier this way.





	tear us down

**Author's Note:**

> @ vrains discord i see u + i raise u half-assed hackershipping

The first time it happens, it’s a close call.

The exit route Shoichi’d coded in had closed just as a vicious slash from a Knight of Hanoi’s Link Monster had closed in, and Yusaku had narrowly avoided his first defeat. He falls out of the uplink room, clutching his shoulder in pain as he catches his breath. Shoichi hovers beside him, regretting ever bringing Yusaku into his messes and eyeing him with careful concern.

“Shit,” he breathes, setting a light hand over Yusaku’s shoulder. “Are you hurt?”

Yusaku shakes his head, pushing himself up to meet Shoichi’s eyes. “Took you long enough.”

“Sorry,” Shoichi says, biting his lip. He looks over at Yusaku, studying him, the guilt eating away at his chest. “It’s my fault.”

Yusaku’s eyes narrow – they both know he’s not talking about the recent fight anymore, and they’ve rehashed this same argument so many times Shoichi’s tired. He knows Yusaku’s capable of making his own decisions, whether or not Shoichi’s there to support him, but – he still worries, still wishes it was him in the uplink instead of Yusaku.

“Stop thinking,” Yusaku growls, and before Shoichi can reply, Yusaku’s leaning in. The minute Yusaku’s lips meet his, Shoichi’s mind goes blank, eyes widening in surprise. Yusaku kisses like he duels, each movement precise and calculated with single-minded precision. His teeth and tongue rasp aggressively against Shoichi’s lips, graze into the inside of his mouth. It’s angry and desperate and Shoichi gasps into it, making a low noise before he realizes what he’s doing and flinches backwards, wiping his mouth with the back of his hand.

“Yusaku,” he starts, but the duelist’s eyes are clouded with anger, pupils dark and wide.

“Don’t try to tell me what I want,” Yusaku says, lowly.

Shoichi closes his eyes, takes a slow breath. “You don’t _know_ what you want. What you're asking for.”

“Coming from you?” It’s bitter, a low blow, even from Yusaku’s sharp tongue. Shoichi stays silent, fixing his eyes on the floor as Yusaku sweeps out of the truck. He – he’s supposed to be the responsible one, even if they both know that whatever tension that’s been haunting the two of them hasn’t just been a figment of their imagination, even if Yusaku notices the way Shoichi’s touches linger, the way his hands shake on the keyboard when he sees Yusaku in trouble.

The next day, they don’t talk about it, and Shoichi’s almost glad. It’s easier this way, he tells himself.

–

The second time, it’s Shoichi’s life on the line.

He’s in an alley, his back up against the wall as SOL Tech’s goon closes in on him. The guy pulls a gun, and Shoichi swallows, cause this is it, this is where his hero charade ends.

He thinks of Yusaku, because of course he does, sending a quick prayer to whoever’s listening that Yusaku’d actually followed his escape plan and hauled ass in time for him to be far enough away to evade capture.

He doesn’t need Yusaku to see this.

“Whoa there,” he says, holding his hands up. “No need for those threats, boys.”

“Where’s Playmaker,” the man growls, aiming the gun straight at Shoichi’s head. Shoichi inhales, trying to think of some clever last words, but before he can answer, an achingly familiar voice breaks through the silence.

“Right here,” Yusaku’s voice echoes from the front of the alley, and the minute the man turns at the sound, Shoichi tackles him to the ground, knocking the gun out of his hands. Yusaku kicks it away, face impassive. Shoichi grabs a fistful of the man’s hair, slamming his head back onto the concrete and wincing when he hears a sickening crack, the man’s head lolling loosely down into unconsciousness.

They flee the scene quickly, only stopping to look at each other when they’ve reached the safety of the truck.

The minute they're safe, Yusaku’s eyes flash up to meet his. They ask him an unspoken question, and Shoichi shakes his head. “He should be fine.”

“I don’t care about that,” Yusaku says, voice strained. “Are you hurt?”

“I’m fine,” Shoichi says, quickly. He pauses, looking away. “You didn’t leave me behind like I told you to.”

Yusaku stares at him for a beat, before shoving Shoichi harshly against the wall. Shoichi grunts, breath knocked out of him by the impact as Yusaku approaches.

“You’re an idiot,” Yusaku mutters, and Shoichi freezes as he feels Yusaku put a hand, painfully gentle, on the side of his neck.

“If I'd lost you,” Yusaku murmurs, against his lips, and Shoichi doesn’t let him finish the sentence, leaning forward to close the gap. It’s a different kind of desperation this time, Yusaku pressing in close as if he’s memorizing Shoichi’s breaths, his pulse – it draws the air from Shoichi’s chest, sparks a dull ache that resonates in his ribs, his bones. He doesn't want to think about it too hard, wants to ignore the way he can see whatever he feels reflected in Yusaku's eyes. He doesn't want to think about that that means.

“We shouldn’t be doing this,” Shoichi insists, against Yusaku’s jaw. Yusaku’s hand shifts where it’s resting on his neck, fingers pressing insistently down on his pulse point, lips brushing over Shoichi’s cheek.

“Why?”

It’s a simple question, and Shoichi can’t bring himself to answer before Yusaku’s already leaning away, breaking away from Shoichi to take his usual place in front of their eclectic gallery of screens and data.

Shoichi sighs, joining Yusaku at the consoles, pretending his skin doesn’t hum where Yusaku’d touched it, pretending he’s alright with leaving whatever they are unsaid.

–

There’s no third time, and Shoichi thinks about the irony of it sometimes. It’s for the best, he tells himself. What they’re doing – it’s dangerous, and – it’s better not to get attached, he thinks, as if he hasn’t already.

It’s easier this way.


End file.
